


stable (may 2029)

by Laura JV (jacquez)



Series: every choice you make creates a universe [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:44:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacquez/pseuds/Laura%20JV
Summary: The parents of Rosie's friends are always in for a wild ride.





	stable (may 2029)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Basingstoke for the beta!

“Who’s Rosie?”  
  
Maya went off in raptures — Rosie was an eventer (Jeanette had never followed eventing, but apparently this Rosie was superb), Rosie was two years older than Maya, Rosie’s horse was a black gelding named Baskerville, and Rosie could do trick riding bareback.  
  
“I’d like to meet her,” she said, keeping her tone casual; Maya fell half-in-love with an older girl every few months, and these girls were much less likely to be cruel if they knew Maya’s mother was paying attention. “Will she be at the barn tomorrow?”  
  
“She’s always at the barn!”  
  
Indeed, the next day, a short, strong-looking girl with a disconcertingly familiar face was standing outside the tack room when Maya and Jeanette arrived for Maya’s lesson.  
  
“Rosie!” Maya said, and ran to hug the girl, who gave her a lopsided smile and a hug back. Her lip was cut, and she had a red mark on the side of her face.  
  
“Hello,” Jeanette said, offering her hand. “I’m Maya’s mum, Jeanette. You must be the Rosie I’ve heard so much about.”  
  
“Yes,” Rosie said, shaking her hand firmly. Rosie's hand was dusty, and her knuckles scraped and bloody. Jeanette wiped her fingers off on her trouser leg, a little unsettled. Rosie licked blood from her lip and said, “I’m delighted to see you didn’t let your dreadful relationship with my father end your chances for romantic happiness.”  
  
“What,” said Jeanette.  
  
“You used to date John Watson,” Rosie said. “You’re in a photo album of my Dad’s, at a Christmas party, before I was born. I recognized you immediately.”  
  
Jeanette had done a very good job of not thinking about John Watson since she’d made it a New Year’s resolution for 2011, despite how often he’d been in the press that year — and for a number of years thereafter. She’d blacklisted his name, and Sherlock Holmes’s, on her news app back in 2020 when they’d solved a gruesome homicide and been in the news for weeks, and hadn’t regretted it once. John had, eventually, faded into just one more ex-boyfriend, if one who was a little bit famous and might turn up on the telly now and then.  
  
Rosie Watson — yes, she could see it now, that was why her face was familiar — watched her silently, her dark blue eyes never wavering.  
  
“Oh,” said Jeanette. “Yes. That was a long time ago. I’d almost forgotten.”  
  
“You hadn’t,” Rosie said, “but it’s not really relevant. You’re worried I’ll be cruel to Maya—“  
  
“Mum!” Maya protested, “are you? That’s MORTIFYING!”  
  
“—it’s clear from you checking up on me like this, but I don’t mind in the slightest. I’d be far more worried if you didn’t check up.” She shifted slightly on her feet, and rolled out her left shoulder.  
  
Jeanette cleared her throat. “Yes, well. Can’t blame a mother for worrying.”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” Rosie said. “My mother died when I was a baby. Dad and Sherlock worry, though.”

 

Jeanette cleared her throat again, unsure what to say to that. Rosie was still in front of the tack room door. “Can Maya get by to —“  
  
“Oh, no, sorry,” said Rosie. “You’ll have to wait for the police to show up. I’ve got Henry back there. It’ll only be another few minutes.”  
  
“You’ve—“  
  
“He’s been molesting some of the girls,” Rosie said. Jeanette felt it like a punch to the chest, and next to her, Maya let out a shocked squeak. “That’s why I haven’t let you go to the tack room alone in weeks,” Rosie added, looking at Maya, then raised her hand and waved. “Over here!”  
  
A deep voice responded “Watson!” from behind them. Jeanette turned, and there was Sherlock bloody Holmes, jogging towards them. He’d gone gray, in the intervening years, and he didn’t seem to notice her at all. “Watson,” he said, breathless, and took Rosie by the shoulders, “are you all right?” There was a burn mark across the back of his left hand, and he was wearing a wedding band. She couldn’t imagine who he’d got to marry him.  
  
“Absolutely, Shasha,” Rosie said. “Can’t say the same for the pervert in the tack room, though. I let him get me alone. He’s an idiot and had no idea who he was dealing with.”  
  
Sherlock brushed his fingers over Rosie's reddened cheek, touched her split lip, and pulled her close for a hug, which was — not a thing Jeanette could ever have imagined him doing. She’d barely known him but she’d seen enough of how he treated other people. “Christ, are you ever John’s kid,” he said, into her hair. “You’re _fourteen_. You can’t take on adult men.”

 

“Self-evidently, I can,” Rosie said, her voice muffled against Sherlock’s chest. “You know damn well how good I am.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and clenched her fists into his jacket. "He wasn't expecting a _fight_ . He goes after _children_."

 

He made a choked noise and pressed a kiss to her hair. “ _Watson_ , you damned menace _._ _You’re_ a child.” He sighed, and stepped back, taking Rosie’s hands in his and turning them over. He touched the scrapes on her knuckles, pulled lightly at her fingers. “You didn’t break anything, at least, but we should ice your hands when we get home. And your face.”

  
Rosie squeezed his fingers. “Honestly, Shasha, I’m _fine._ Hey, do you remember Jeanette, or did you delete her?”

Jeanette flinched as Sherlock’s focus snapped to her. His peculiar eyes, pale and tilted and cutting, raked over her body. He made her feel as if he knew everything about her and just didn’t care.   
  
“Deleted, apparently,” Sherlock said. “Not a criminal, then, I never delete those.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Schoolteacher. Slightly overprotective mother, probably for the best considering the situation. Two cats. _Clearly_ knows me from somewhere, no one makes that face unless they’ve met me before and disliked me. _Oh!_ Did she date your father at some point?”  
  
“Don’t delete her again,” Rosie said. “Her daughter’s my friend.” She grinned at Maya, the sunny, affectionate grin that she remembered John aiming at Sherlock over her shoulder, once or twice. Never at her, though, and she’d almost forgotten how much that had hurt.  
  
“The things I do for you and your father,” Sherlock said, and held out his hand. “Hello again. Terribly sorry. Dreadful with names. Sherlock.”    
  
“Jeanette,” Jeanette said, shaking his hand, and abruptly she knew, without being able to say how she knew, who he’d found to marry him. “So. How long have you and John been married, then?”  
  
Sherlock smirked and tucked Rosie under his arm. “Not as long as everyone seems to think,” he said, and then the police were there.

 


End file.
